When I was in the fifth grade, I got punched in the face by a female classmate.
It was after school and we were running around and playing on the school grounds, waiting for our rides home or waiting for ourselves to tire from all the fun and games before heading home.
There is this stupid thing that little girls do: you grab the skirt’s hem of a fellow female friend or classmate and lift it, exposing her underwear or shorts. Lots of girls did it to me, I did it to a lot of girls. It’s embarrassing, annoying, and not even remotely funny (like most Filipino comedy shows and Willie Revillame) but we do it anyway. I think it’s a Filipino thing (is it?): finding glee in other people’s misfortune, finding amusement in other people’s embarrassment.
That particular afternoon, someone lifted my skirt. No big deal, I’ll just do it to someone else (don’t ask me to explain the logic of a fifth-grader). I ran over to her, lifted her skirt, and ran away (that’s how the game goes). She marched over to where I was and then punched me. In the face.
I was shocked and didn’t know how to react. It didn’t help that she was one of the popular kids while I was this ugly, dark-skinned girl with goggle marks around her eyes who didn’t have a lot of friends (or wasn’t friends with the right people). So she punched me and I didn’t punch back and that was that.
Fastforward to a little over a decade: we’re Facebook friends. Her photos show up in my live feed. Girlfriend is ugly. UGG-LEEE, I tell ya (the motorhome towing sort of ugly. WUT). The kind of ugly that makes me think: was she this ugly all along, all this time, all her life and I just didn’t notice it ’til I stopped being ugly?
I know I sound totally shallow and self-absorbed but plz, I got punched in the face. It’s okay, though, cos life punched her back with the ugly fist.
It amuses me.